What Dreams May Come
by MontanaSlim
Summary: At the end of Season 4, Vic is left wondering where her life has gone and what to do next. Her unconscious mind reveals itself in dreams and may help her chart a course through the storm. Rated T for language.


Fresh off a grueling shift and still wearing her uniform, boots and all, Vic collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Cady's ceiling. She rolled her eyes and exhaled in sad, self-pitying disgust. Fuck. She didn't even have her own ceiling to stare at anymore. Her hands instinctively reached for the photo tucked between the mattress and the wall, and she glanced at it one last time before tearing it in half and letting the pieces drop to the floor. It's not that she didn't believe, didn't trust what she felt, it's that she knew they'd both been through so much. They'd both been too damn stubborn, too foolishly proud. That poor possum was a sad surrogate for the truth, a truth now deeply buried. Neither was innocent. And the terrible irony was that when they'd both desperately needed someone to turn to, they should have turned to each other. It wasn't that they hadn't tried, it was that they had both turned away. She closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep laced with vivid dreams.

 _In Vic's dream, she flashes back to a night at the station after she'd assumed the role of acting Sheriff while Walt was on leave following the death of Barlow Connally ..._

"Anything else I can do for you tonight, Vic?" Eamonn O'Neill stood in the doorway of Walt's office and looked expectantly at the boss as she sifted through various piles of paperwork on the desk. Eamonn liked Vic, liked working with her, and his offer was both genuine and sincere.

"No thanks, Eamonn. Have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow." She smiled tiredly and gave Deputy O'Neill a little wave.

"Ok," he said slowly, an expression of concern etched clearly on his face and in his voice. "If you're sure." He paused. "Don't work all night."

"I won't." She turned her attention back to the piles of papers and began in earnest. Burying herself in work was something she'd always been good at. This evening, however, her mind wandered. Maybe it was doing Walt's job, maybe it was sitting at his desk, but she couldn't help herself from thinking about him. The use of deadly force was unsettling for even the most experienced of officers, nevermind the circumstances. Vic sat back in the chair, took a deep breath, and stretched her tired limbs. Her fingers traced the delicate, polished woodwork of the desk. She thought about the choices she'd made these last few months, and she barely recognized herself. She thought of her father. Vic Senior was a man of few words, but what was it he said? Learn from your mistakes? Hell, she'd heard that plenty of times from him and others, but ... there was something else. She closed her eyes and heard his voice. "Victoria. You always know what to do. It's whether you choose to do it." She took a deep breath. Decision made, she locked up the station, forwarded the calls, and steered her truck towards Walt's cabin.

Walt was sitting on the porch when she arrived. She put the truck in park and paused, taking him in from behind her aviators in the fading light. Her hand found its way to the door handle and clasped it tight before she opened the door and climbed slowly out of the truck. She walked towards the porch. The cool evening air did little to calm the fiery nerves in her gut. Based on her own past behavior, her snarky remarks about the bat came to mind, she wasn't sure how well her visit would be received, and to make matters worse, she definitely wasn't prepared for how good he looked. She hadn't realized how much she had missed his company, tenuous as it had been of late. Something inside her hoped he'd missed hers as well.

"Vic. What brings you all the way out here?" His face was neutral.

She approached the porch slowly. Gesturing to the Rainier in his hand, she asked, "Can I have one of those?"

"You came by for a beer?"

"No, but I could use one."

He laughed a little without smiling. "Ok." Slowly and deliberatly, he raised his solid frame from the steps he'd recently rebuilt and turned towards the door. She exhaled and remembered to breathe.

"Come on in." Following him inside, Vic surveyed the room. The horror of what had happened there still felt very real. Walt seemed not to notice as he drained the beer in his hand, crushed the can, tossed it away and opened the refrigerator for two more. He sat down at the small kitchen table, and she followed his lead, sinking into the chair opposite him. Vic took a long draw on her beer. Walt watched her silently. She met his stare for a long moment before she spoke.

"How are you?"

Walt dropped his eyes. She tracked his gaze as it wandered across the room, lingering here and there, seeking distraction in familiarity but finding none. With no place left to go, his steely blues met her eyes once more, and finally he spoke.

"I'm ok."

It took just about all the self control she had not to immediately reply, BULLSHIT! Instead, she took another long sip of beer and stared him down. As strong a man as he was, her leveling stares were almost always his undoing. He shifted in his chair, looked away and ran his hand across his beard before looking back at her.

"I'm still processing."

Well, that was something. She nodded and cautiously softened her stare, the depth of her eyes on the verge of betraying her feelings.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He drained his beer and pointed to the fridge. "Another?" It was half question half statement.

"Sure. Don't get up." She gestured with a nod and rose from her seat.

She'd taken barely two steps when he turned in his chair and reached for her, his grip firm but soft on her arm. She stopped. Slowly, hesitantly he drew her towards him, his eyes searching hers for permission. She stepped into his embrace, and he buried his face in her chest, breathing deeply, his arms holding her close, her hands gently caressing his shoulders and his back ...

Vic woke in a cold sweat, her cell phone buzzing on the night stand. 9-11. Walt's cabin. Wait, what? She was just there! She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. No. She could have been there, but they'd both made different choices. She shook her head again. Fucking reality! Her feet found the floor and she stumbled to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She regarded herself in the mirror and steeled her resolve. Do. Your. Job. Deputy.


End file.
